


The hollow tide of time

by Ferrydenpurple



Series: The Hollow Man [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is with Lisa, Depressed Dean, Sad, sam is in the pit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrydenpurple/pseuds/Ferrydenpurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is not enough time or whiskey in this world to make the pain of losing Sam any less and Dean will never feel full again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The hollow tide of time

**Author's Note:**

> A very short piece. Dean struggling with Sam's death after he went into the cage.

The clock ticked hollowly, like water dripping into an empty drum. Dean thought that it was a good metaphor for his relationship with Lisa. He felt that no matter how much time he poured into this relationship, how much of himself, it would never feel full. He would never feel full. There would always be a huge Sam shaped hole inside of him and everything he poured in would always rush straight out leaving him empty. 

He liked Lisa well enough. In another life he could have loved her he was sure. He adored spending time with Ben. Watching him grow, teaching him, seeing the beginnings of the man he was steadily growing up to be. But sometimes… sometimes being around Ben reminded him so much of raising Sammy when he was younger it would shatter another shard of his fractured heart. It was enough to make him want to cry. Or drink. Not that it took a lot to drive him to drink these days. Or tears. When it all got to be too much, which was pretty much every other night, he would find himself down in the garage in the front seat of the impala with a bottle of whiskey crying over Sam. Over the happy, chubby cheeked little baby that was thrust into his arms when he was four years old and promptly became his entire life, to the smart, so smart, too smart for his own good teenager at constant logger heads with their father. Dean can’t remember if he ever told Sammy how proud of him he was for making it into college, for being his own man. So goddamn proud. Most of all he mourns the man that Sam became. The strong, brave, stubborn son of a bitch that made sacrifices time and time again to protect others, to protect Dean. The man who cared about saving people, who sacrificed himself to avert the apocalypse. The man who Dean loved more than he has ever loved anyone in his entire life. Who he still loves, even in death.

So, most nights he drinks. Other nights, like tonight, he lies awake in the dark, listening to the hollow clock wishing that the time could pour into him and fill the aching pain behind his ribs but nothing ever fills the void. There is not enough time or whiskey in this world to make the pain of losing Sam any less and Dean will never feel full again.


End file.
